


Hurt

by Moorishflower



Series: A Cold Academic Hell [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If I could start again / A million miles away / I would keep myself / I would find a way</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

Sam wakes, feeling like – and there’s really no other accurate way to describe it – someone has repeatedly hit him with a gong, soaked him in water, and then wrung him out to dry. He peels open his eyes, peering blearily around, trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming through the windows and figure out where he is at the same time.

The first thing he notices is that he’s in his own bed, in his and Dean’s apartment. Considering he drank almost half a fifth of scotch last night, he thinks that that’s kind of an achievement in and of itself.

The second thing he notices is that he’s not alone. Sam freezes, trying to work out if who’s in bed with him is who he _thinks_ it is. He feels his way behind him, finding the curve of a thigh, a hip, a…

“Jesus,” Sam mutters. That’s _metal_ he’s feeling. He jerks his hand away, and Gabriel, lying next to him, hums softly and tucks his hand over Sam’s waist.

“Morning,” he murmurs. “Why’d you move your hand?”

“Because you’re _naked_.”

Gabriel huffs laughter against his cheek, pressing up against Sam’s back. Sam can feel that bit of metal rubbing against the small of his back. Sam shivers. His first desire – to get up and get some coffee – fades in the wake of his second desire, which is to roll Gabriel over and kiss him until they’re both breathless. He bites his lip. _Calm down._

“I like to sleep naked.”

“Do you…” Sam clears his throat, regretting it almost instantly. The sound and effort of it causes his head to ache. His mouth feels like someone ran sandpaper over it. “Do you have a…piercing?”

Gabriel’s voice is smug. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Do you have your _dick_ pierced?”

 _“Would it creep you out if I said yes?”_

 _Sam considers it. “…No.”_

 _“Then yes.”_

 _Sam reaches behind himself, grabbing what he can of Gabriel’s ass and pinching. Gabriel yelps. “Jesus! The hell was that for?”_

 _“For not telling me earlier.” Sam extricates himself from Gabriel’s grasp, yawning as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stretches, feeling his spine pop, and he feels, more than sees, Gabriel’s gaze rake appreciatively over him. “Mm. I didn’t do anything last night, did I?”_

 _“Define ‘anything.’”_

 _“I mean anything embarrassing.”_

 _“You got hit on by a handsome devil of a man, but that was all.”_

 _Sam grins, turning around and flopping back down onto the bed. He trails his fingers over Gabriel’s bare shoulder, humming softly. “A handsome devil, huh? Did he drive a beat-up old Datsun? Was it blue?”_

 _“A Mustang, actually. Bright red.” Gabriel leans up, kissing the corner of Sam’s mouth and then grimacing. “Ugh. Nice morning breath.” Then he reaches up, flicking his fingers through Sam’s hair. “And your hair looks like an angry haystack.”_

 _“I’ll show you angry,” Sam mutters, pushing Gabriel back down onto the bed, the sheets the only thing between them as Sam laughs and kisses Gabriel’s cheek, his neck, his shoulder. He digs his fingers against Gabriel’s sides, prompting a round of giggles. “Give up?”_

 _“Fuck! Fuck, yeah, just…” Gabriel interrupts himself with his own laughter, and Sam rolls off of him, humming contentedly. “Mm. Shame we have to get up.”_

 _Sam closes his eyes, perfectly content to go back to sleep. “Huh?”_

 _“You need to brush your teeth before I wither and die. And you need to have some coffee before you pass out.”_

 _Sam is abruptly reminded of his looming headache, which returns with a vengeance now that he’s no longer distracted. He winces, running his hand along Gabriel’s stomach in a futile attempt to keep the pain at bay. “Don’t wanna move.”_

 _“You’ll feel better once you’re up and running.”_

 _“Don’t even mention running,” Sam groans, but he rolls himself over, his back to Gabriel, and then swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He scrubs his hands over his face, muttering dire threats against no one in particular, and then shakily gets to his feet. Gabriel lounges there, a cat got the cream expression plastered all over his face, watching as Sam totters on top of his own legs. Which, he’s never noticed before, are _really_ long. Far too long, in fact._

Staggering towards the door, Sam takes a moment to pause and give Gabriel the finger before grabbing his sweatpants, shoving his legs into them, and then heading out into the hallway.

“Maybe later, big boy,” Gabriel calls after him, and Sam nearly chokes on his own spit.

~

Sam shuffles out into the hallway, letting the door to his room fall shut behind him, blocking Gabriel’s stupidly smug expression from his view. Yawning, Sam runs his fingers through his hair, wincing. Gabriel was sort of right, his hair really is crazy this morning. He makes a cursory attempt to comb out the knots, to make his hair lie flat, but he gives up fairly quickly, opting instead to deal with it later, when his brain doesn’t feel like it’s pickling in his skull and his stomach has stopped trying to eat itself. Scratching his side, Sam weaves his way down the hallway and into the kitchen.

He freezes a few steps in. The smell of bacon and brewing coffee assaults him, the sounds of an active kitchen, and that’s wrong, because Dean isn’t supposed to be here, is he? He should be out, still with his boyfriend, spending the night at his boyfriend’s house or…

But Dean is standing right there, barefoot, his jeans zipped but not buttoned and his shirt wrinkled, most likely from spending the night on the floor. He’s got a package of bacon in one hand and a pan resting on the stove. The whole room smells delicious, and Sam’s stomach growls menacingly at him.

Dean is frozen, staring. The pan of bacon pops and sizzles on the stove.

Sam feels like maybe this is a dream, like maybe if he just turns around and walks back down the hallway to his room that Dean will forget this ever happened. He can sneak Gabriel out somehow later, and no one will ever have to…

“Sammy?”

The moment is shattered. The frying bacon sounds impossibly loud, louder, somehow, than the thud of Sam’s own heart. He feels like he’s going to throw up. “Oh shit,” he says. “Oh shit.”

Dean glances around the kitchen like he’s looking for an escape. The bacon pops, and Dean starts, then grabs the pan and moves it from the burner. He turns the stove off. Sam clears his throat, a sound that turns into something like a choked-off sob.

Dean’s eyes abruptly widen, and Sam feels someone approach the kitchen from behind him. “Dean, I cannot find my tie, do you know…?”

 _That_ is a familiar voice, strange in its sleep-roughness and its casual tone, but still familiar. Sam spins around just as Castiel - _Castiel_ , Dean’s _advisor_ \- is lifting his head from his mostly-buttoned shirt, which he had apparently been previously doing up. Their eyes meet. Sam swallows, trying very, very hard not to stare at Castiel’s neck and chest, which are absolutely _covered_ with hickeys.

“Ah,” Castiel says. Sam makes another choking, sobbing sound. “Perhaps it would be prudent if I…left.”

“You,” he says, and it comes out as a stammer. “He, and you…”

It’s at this point that Sam realizes that he would do just about anything to own a time machine, because Gabriel chooses that moment – out of all the possible moments – to emerge from Sam’s bedroom, announcing his presence as he walks down the hall by calling out, “You frying up some bacon out there, kiddo?”

Sam’s eyes – as well as everyone else’s – turn towards the doorway to the kitchen just as Gabriel appears there, yawning, and wearing…thankfully he’s wearing _something_ , but, not so thankfully, he’s wearing Sam’s boxers, falling low on his hips, and by the way he moves he’s obviously not used to wearing boxers in the first place. Sam swallows. _Oh fuck_ , he thinks. It’s on a permanent loop in his brain. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh_ …

“ _You_ ,” Dean snarls. Gabriel freezes, hand raised to his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, shit.”

 _Oh fuck_ , Sam thinks again, just as Dean, wearing a look that could make a stone weep, pushes past him and Castiel. His shoulder catches almost violently against Gabriel’s, making him stagger back a little. He’s heading for the front door.

“Dean,” Sam calls out, almost shouts, “Dean, wait!”

Dean doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t care that Sam is calling, because he hears the jingling of keys, and then, a moment later, the sound of the door opening and then slamming shut.

“Well,” Gabriel says again. “That could have gone better.”

Sam is standing, frozen, staring after his brother. Castiel is still standing there in the doorway, Gabriel behind him. Castiel’s mouth turns down in a puzzled frown. He stares accusingly at first Gabriel, and then Sam.

“You did not tell Dean,” he says, and Gabriel shrugs. “Neither of you informed him of your relationship.”

“We were…working on it?” Gabriel says hesitantly, and Castiel sighs. Sam, feeling like his limbs have turned into lead, drops down into one of the kitchen chairs and buries his face in his hands. He feels Gabriel’s hand touching his shoulder, smoothing over the back of his neck, pushing his hair away. A moment later he feels Gabriel’s lips resting there, a gentle kiss.

“I wanted to avoid _this_ ,” Sam mutters. “Goddamnit, I knew he’d react like this. I _knew_.”

“He’ll get over it.” Gabriel’s breath puffs against Sam’s bare skin, and he shivers. “Just tell him you’re happy, tell him…”

“You don’t get it. He’ll think that you seduced me, or that you hypnotized me or some fuckin’ ridiculous thing.”

“Perhaps he is more upset that you lied to him,” Castiel suggests, and Sam falls silent, huffing quietly.

“I didn’t want to. I can’t even remember why I didn’t tell him in the first place, not really. But…” Sam sits up, almost dislodging Gabriel’s hand from his shoulder. “He lied to me, too! You…he never even mentioned your name!”

“He believed that you would think poorly of him if you learned he was romantically involved with one of his professors.”

“God,” Gabriel interrupts. “We are _all_ kinds of fucked up. Castiel, go home. Give Dean a call, see if you can get him to come back. Maybe if I can talk to him…”

“Show him that your intentions are honest,” Castiel finishes, brightening slightly. “That is a good idea. I will call you if Dean agrees.”

“And you,” Gabriel continues, patting Sam’s shoulder. “You’re going to call Dean, too.”

“He’s not going to answer.”

“Then text him. Just make sure he knows you’re sorry. He’ll come back when he’s ready to, promise.”

“But how can you know?”

“I’ve got my fair share of experience with bitchy brothers.” Gabriel leans down, kissing Sam’s cheek. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”

“Don’t want to.” Sam rests his head on the kitchen table, listening to the sound of Castiel shuffling around in Dean’s bedroom, and then walking to the living room. He hears the front door open and close.

“No point in sitting and wallowing in self pity.”

“There’s _every_ point.” When Gabriel tucks his hands under Sam’s armpits and hauls him up, though, Sam follows, allowing himself to be steered back towards his bedroom. At Gabriel’s urging, he gets himself out of his sweatpants (Gabriel, to his credit, neither whistles nor leers) and into a clean pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of socks and shoes. Gabriel remains in Sam’s boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed while Sam grabs his phone from the nightstand and dials Dean’s number.

The phone rings five times before going to voicemail. Sam hangs up without leaving a message, making a disgusted noise. “What did I tell you?”

“And what did I tell _you_? Text him.”

Sam groans, dropping down next to Gabriel, his thumbs flying over the keypad.

 _I can explain_ , he sends. He holds the phone against his chest, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Gabriel tucks himself against Sam’s side, remaining quiet. After several minutes, Sam sends another message, more out of anger than anything else: _It’s not like you didn’t lie too_

He sends a total of eight messages over the course of the next hour, each one more desperate and terse than the last

He gives up, eventually. Gives up, and presses his face against Gabriel’s arm, and struggles not to scream


End file.
